Earlier in the semester I got a postcard through campus mail. "You're invited," it said, "to a reception hosted by the campus office that supports grant applications." I've mentioned once or twice here that I applied for a grant last spring; it wasn't funded but I turned the application around just in time to get a smaller university grant instead. The invitation came because I applied for an external grant, which is something the university wants to encourage. I felt a bit like an impostor, showing up at a reception where the guests of honor had actual NIH and NSF funding, but I think that (a) it's always wise to push back against impostor syndrome and (b) hanging out with people who are writing grants keeps the grant-writing wheels cranking inside my own brain. So I RSVP'd: yes, thank you, I'd be happy to come.
I'd been to a casual meet-and-greet sponsored by this office, and I was guessing that the reception would be an even more casual affair. It was at the student union instead of an upscale restaurant; it started at 4:30 instead of being squarely in evening territory. I thought there would be lots of people who were just popping over from the office.
I think there might have been an invisible ink line on the invitation: dress up, everybody. I failed to hold my postcard over a candle flame in search of invisible ink messages, and so I did not get the memo. Alas.
Tuesday is my longest day. This morning I had an 8:30 meeting with a student and then my class ran until 9pm. I usually pop home in the late afternoon to say hi and eat dinner and change into teaching clothes, but I dress down for most of the day. This morning I pulled on a pair of moderately faded jeans, an NPR T-shirt, and a fleece. The laundry-folding train has gone off the rails, and so I didn't have any plain socks in my drawer. I pulled on a pair of screaming neon red socks under a pair of Birkenstock clogs, cut for maximum sock visibility.
...And then I walked into a room full of people who had actually read their invisible ink message and dressed accordingly.
I'm still trying to figure it out. The dean and the VPs and the president always dress up, but that's not the case at all for faculty. I guess if you've been to the reception before you know it's a dressy affair? I guess if you were teaching earlier in the day you might have been dressed for class? I guess maybe I missed a clue that should have been obvious and probably everybody was pointing at me behind my back and saying, "What does she think she's doing here? Her grant didn't even get funded!"
Maybe not that last part.
Anyway. I had some pleasant conversations with people from another department, and I set up my dean to tell a crowd-pleasing story at my table (in a natural, non-sucking-up kind of way), and then I excused myself to go teach my evening class. But I tell you what: it is way more comfortable to be at the 40th percentile for dressiness than it is to be at the 4th.
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